If you’re an elk addict, New Zealand’s South Island and it’s massive red deer population is a must-visit location. The roar is remarkable.
by Jace Bauserman
We call it the rut, and the Kiwis call it the roar. I quickly learned that they are remarkably similar, and I was hoping for that.
The first red deer came to New Zealand from Europe. In 1851, a pair of reds—a hind and a stag—were sent to the South Island from Lord Petre’s herd in Thorndon Park, Essex. Oddly enough, the hind, not the stag, was harvested before the pair could mate. In 1854, a red stag from Royal Park in Richmond, UK, was released.
Things were slow-moving at first, but thousands of red deer came to the island between 1860 and 1920. The majority came from the English Parks and the Scottish Highlands. Today, New Zealand’s South Island is a red deer mecca. Between deer farms and wild deer, the population is remarkable and continues to grow.
I first read about red deer in an Outdoor Life article. Their elk-looking headgear intrigued me, and though not as big-bodied as Rocky Mountain or Roosevelt elk, a mature stag will push the scale over 500 pounds.
It was March 13, which, according to my good buddy and owner of SOE Hunts, Mike Stroff, would be comparable to September’s first week regarding how far along the red deer were in the roar. I couldn’t wait.
Too get in touch with Mike and book your own New Zealand adventure, email him at mike@savageoutdoors.tv.
Get After It!
Tony was a riot, and my cameraman, Stephen, I’d met and spent time with before. Stephan is a fantastic man and the original OG of the filming hunts era. He’s been in the game a very long time and is very good at what he does.
The terrain in New Zealand, especially along the McKerrow Mountain Range, is either straight up or down. There’s not much in between. The lower portion of the mountains is covered with heavy ferns and various species of beech and cabbage trees. The upper slopes feature both heavy and sprinkled patches of manuka. Manuka is comparable to a small evergreen shrub. The animals love the leaves, and the mid- to larger-sized patches make incredible bedding.
In many places, the ferns are head-high, which makes glassing challenging. I spotted the first stag. The morning was quiet, and I’d yet to hear the roar, but my Leupold’s found a grayish-red muzzle sticking between two heavy ferns.
Tony and Stephen—experienced at sizing up stags—decided the brute was worthy of a stalk. My heart was in my throat. I didn’t get a great look at the stag’s head, but his horns looked heavy and dark to me.
“Too big,” Tony said as he looked over the stag carefully. I was looking for a stag in the Bronze to Silver medal range, and wouldn’t you know it, the first one I glassed up was a Gold.
Still, we made the perfect stalk. The crosshairs of my Leupold VX-6HD Gen 2 settled on the stag’s side, and I went through the execution part without pulling the trigger. It was awesome!
While Tony and I were looking at Mr. Big, unbeknown to us, another stag was slipping across the slope above us. When we stood up, Tony immediately whispered, “Get back down.”
Stags miss nothing. Their eyes, ears, and noses are as keen as elk, and by the time Stephen could shift from filming the big stag, the shooter vanished into the ferns. All you could see as the stag made his way straight up the mountain was green ferns moving left to right. The landscape alone is remarkable.
We sat for a minute on a small knob, the cold fall air turning our breath white, and took in the moment. We couldn’t do it for long, though. Another stag, walking the same trail as the shooter, materialized like an apparition. It was obvious that love was starting to fill the air.
“Too small,” Tony said. “That’s a bit of a wee fellow; only a couple of years old, but what a sweet-ass start.”
Kiwi’s say “sweet-ass” about anything extraordinary, and I love it! They are some of the best people I have ever been around.
Keep Going, Or Go In?
We covered miles of gnarly terrain and were in stags most of the day. I was having the time of my life, and then, promptly at 11:30 a.m., I heard my first roar. It sounded like a cross between a cow mooing and an African lion roaring. I’ve heard both, and that’s the best way I can describe it.
Lunch would have to wait. We called to that stag and went back and forth, trying to keep the wind in our favor. The problem was hot hair drove the thermals up the mountain, and the stag was moving. Getting in front of him wasn’t possible.
Finally, a shade after 2 p.m., we returned to the UTV and drove back to a small cafe where Tony’s wife worked. The food was remarkable, and it was nice to have a meal. My Garmin Solar Instinct II told me we’d walked six miles and over 10,000 steps. Six miles isn’t much, but mountain miles hit differently. If you’re an elk hunter, you know what I mean.
By 3:30 p.m., we were back on the mountain. The problem for the evening hunt wasn’t the lack of stags—we saw three shooters—but rather the wind. Every time we made a move, the wind would swirl or make a 180-degree switch, and we’d get busted.
Keep ‘Em Close
My New Zealand trip came together so quickly that I didn’t have time to obtain the necessary permits to travel with my rifle. Mike has his New Zealand firearm permit and a gun in camp, which was lucky for me and anyone who travels to hunt New Zealand with SOE Hunts. The rifle was ready after swapping scopes and zeroing my VX-6HD Gen 2 at 100 yards. Mike also has a scope dialed and ready if you prefer not to bring one.
The problem was I had no time to do ballistic testing for Leupold to cut me a CDS-SZL2 Elevation Dial. Mike’s on-hand ammo was Norma’s BONDSTRIKE. The on-box data for the 180-grain bullet was a drop of 2.6 inches at 200 yards and 9.7 inches at 300 yards. Still, I didn’t want to push it. Mike and I were confident we could get a stag within 200, and we stuck to that plan.
With darkness swallowing the land, which feels impossible at times because the sun has to fall behind the towering western range, a stag roared. I heard some stags roar throughout the afternoon hunt, but none like this. This roar shook me. My binos were locked on a broken-horn stag bumping around a hind when the roar exploded. It made the hair on my body stand up. Unfortunately, the light was too low, and the terrain was too undulating to find the noisemaker. Still, it was awesome. As an elk hunter who loves to hear bulls bugle, I found it the perfect end to a perfect day in the New Zealand backcountry.
Going After A Monster!
I didn’t sleep well. I don’t sleep much on hunts. My brain refuses to shut off. Every time I closed my eyes, I envisioned what the stag that made the final roar of the hunt’s first day looked like. Plus, Tony made it crystal clear we would be looking for that stag at first light, which made it even more challenging to sleep.
Light feels impossible at times. The small town my bride of 21 years and I stayed in is wedged between two massive mountain ranges. The views are spectacular. In the morning, the sun ascends slowly over the eastern range. The western side, our side, comes to life slowly.
The Roar
Like elk, stags roar in the dark, and our growler from the previous evening was at it again. Only today, it appeared from the ruckus, more stags joined the party.
We walked on eggshells, hugging the hillside, trying not to tip our hand as we moved toward the roaring. The thermals were pulling down, and the wind was steady from the north, which was perfect.
Tony saw the stag first, but so did I. How, exactly? Tony was glassing the larger stag, and I was already on my shooting sticks with my crosshairs centered on the chest of a lesser-sized bull.
Stephen was rolling, and things were getting intense. Tony was in my ear, and quickly, I shifted to the larger stag.
“Oh, he’s perfect, mate,” Tony whispered. “He’s just what we’re looking for. Take him when you get the chance.”
The problem was that the game was up. When I shifted from the stag I was on, lowered my sticks, and got on the stag Tony wanted me to shoot, things started to fall apart. These stags are on point. The ranch Mike has access to is gigantic. These monarchs can grow old and wise.
As the stag crossed the mountainside—disappearing and reappearing amongst the ferns—Stephen told me he was on him. As for the range, well, I called for it. However, I knew the stag was inside 200 yards. Not wanting him to take another step, I squeezed off a round before Tony could provide the range. The steep uphill angle and the recoil lifted me out of the scope of a split second. I heard the impact, but I couldn’t find the stag when I brought the scope back down.
I get worked up, about, well, everything. Tony and Stephan were high-fiving and patting me on the back. I wasn’t convinced until I watched the footage again. The stag didn’t take one step.
Reactions to things in life vary from person to person. I’ve seen and hunted with men who’ve killed the bull elk of a lifetime and show little emotion. I knew it meant the world to them, but that’s just how God made them. God made me different. I lose my mind. I cry, hug, and get extremely excited, and I don’t apologize for this. It’s just me. When a dream becomes reality, it’s difficult for me to keep it all in.
A Hell Hole
I have a knack for killing big animals in difficult spots. This was the case with the stag. The good news was it was straight down. The bad news was the ferns were so thick they were over our heads.
None of us cared. We sat on that mountainside for an hour, talking, taking in the views, and snapping photos and videos before we even pulled out the knives. It was special.
Getting the stag off the mountain meant quartering the bull. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I was missing my ALPS Elite Frame +3800 pack. I’d mailed the pack weeks ahead but it was stuck in customs. Instead, I slung quarters over my shoulder, and Tony, Stephen, and I made multiple trips. The good news is that there’s now a trail through the heavy ferns. If another hunter drops a stag in that area, much of the work is done.
If You Love Elk
If you’re an elk hunter, you need to hunt red deer. I fell in love with species, the landscape, and the people. New Zealand is a remarkable place, and the hunt is obtainable.
I highly recommend contacting my amigo Mike Stroff, picking his brain, and lining up a hunt. Mike and his crew go out of their way to make the trip unforgettable. By the way, the food is next level. I hope Rachel is still cooking at the ranch when you visit, and I’m sure the Makarora Country Cafe & Camp will still be up and running. The place is a must-visit, friends.
